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A COMMEMORATIVE SERMON 
UNITARIAN CHURCH, PETERBORO’, N. ci 


ON THE SuNDAY MorninG, AuGusT 19, 1877, 
FOLLOWING THE DEATH OF 


HON. ALBERT S. SCOTT, 


BY HIS PASTOR, 


Pe WVeyAGKSON. 


PETERBORO’ : 
PRESS OF FARNUM AND SCOTT. 
1881. 








“THERE WAS A MAN.” 


Jos, I: 1. 


My discourse this morning is drawn from the contemplation of 
the life and character of our departed citizen and friend. _Al- 
though the most appropriate word was spoken at his funeral last 
Thursday, * yet high the esteem in which he was held and his con- 
spicuous worth make other services in the highest degree appro- 
priate ; and here in this church where his presence gave so much 
dignity, and in this society to the prosperity of which his coun- 
sels so largely contributed, some memorial seems not more a 
tribute due to him than a duty we owe ourselves. Besides, if 
these considerations did not hold, there is another which would 
move me to speak of him to-day. In all. my moral instruction 
here I am guided by the conviction that men could hardly go 
astray would they follow what they honor. To hold this before 
them, therefore, and, if possible, lure them to it, is my steadfast 
aim and endeavor. The lessons of the pulpit, however, often 
fail in effectiveness by being presented in terms general and ab- 
stract. We-were not wise, therefore, to forego the opportunity 
when it comes to contemplate tlem in a real human life. 


You honored him. Men, I know, receive the honor of their 
fellows who are unworthy of it. They win it by the brilliancy of 
some special achievement. In this case, however, it is not thus. 
The honor and esteem in which you held him were the results of 
an open, transparent life-walk and conversation in your midst. 
You honored him for that which you would honor in yourselves : 
for that which is intrinsically honorable. You honored him; and 
his acknowledged pre-eminence here, the wide reach of his influ- 
ence, the general confidence reposed in him, these are the meas- 


*By Rev. John H. Morison, D. D. 


4 


ure of that honor. What a place he filled in our midst? How 
large a gap is made by his departure! In this community, where 
party spirit is exceptionably intense, and sectarian feeling excep- 
tionally strong, what party or what sect may claim a monopoly 
of grief. When last Wednesday morning I first met, after my brief 
absence, the people of this village, I shall never forget the im- 
pression. It seemed as if the pall of a universal sorrow had 
settled here. Knowing my sad errand, people approached me 
freely, and the spoken sense of loss, the repressed sigh, the 
silent tear glistening in the eyes of gentle women and strong 
men ;—not those alone who were especially his friends, but high 
and low as we rank them in the social scale; those who could 
not have voted with him at the polls, or for conscience’ sake have 
walked with him to the house of God in company—this told the 
story. It seemed to all that the one who more than any other 
was the social stay and prop, the wisest in council, the safest to 
rely upon, had gone from us. To all it seemed a common loss : 
and ‘‘How shall we do without him?’ came from many a lip. 
Now how gained he this ascendency, his peculiar quality of influ- 
ence? It were evident to anyone to whom this account were given 
that he must have been possessed of something more than merely 
amiable virtues. I might say he was the most husbandly of hus- 
bands, the most fatherly of fathers, the most brotherly of broth- 
ers, the most neighborly of neighbors, the most friendly of 
friends, and you might esteem and honor him so far as these 
qualities go; but it is plain they could never make for you the 
man we are contemplating. In a normal way great influence 
implies great faculties of some sort. A small man, indeed, 
through artificial agencies, as wealth or party or clique, may 
vault to a conspicuous place and shed down a great influence 
from it; but not thus can it be with one who like our friend 
scorns artificial agencies, and is content to be what the force of 
his own character and his proved worth shall make him. Such 
a one must always have great capacities in order to achieve great 
influence. And great capacities our friend certainly had. His 
intellect was subtle and penetrating; his mental grasp was firm 
and comprehensive. The fibre of his mind was fine; he pos- 
sessed the tastes and instincts of a scholar; he was widely and 
profoundly read. He was gifted in no small degree with logical 
dexterity. He had that faculty of mental perspective, some- 


os) 
what rare, which enables one to see facts or theories in their just 
relation as leading and subordinate. From this resulted a rare 
lucidity of utterance whether in private discussion or in public 
discourse. His personal presence was magnetic ; he was power- 
ful to dispute and eloquent to persuade. 

But let men ever beware how they confide in these high quali- 
ties. Rightly guided they may make one useful indeed; but 
wrongly guided they may make him only more accomplished in 
infamy. ‘The real secret and explanation of his hold upon us 
after these endowments are granted must be looked for farther 
down, in certain moral qualities that shaped and predominated 
his life. I will specify some few of these. 

1. J point, first, to his royal integrity. Without this no man 
can be in any degree useful, for he cannot be trusted. That you 
found it in him, the ample measure of your trust bears witness. 
Now integrity is a virtue easy to name; in certain relations and 
according to certain standards it may seem not difficult to prac- 
tice. Of-course it ought always to be expected. Yet of the 
men whose aims seem high and whose desires are not unworthy, 
I believe that more are shipwrecked from deficiency in this one 
virtue than any other. And this, I am inclined to think, is not 
primarily because the character is weak and the temptation 
strong, but because of a widely prevalent mistake as to the true 
moral basis. There seem to be two standards by which men 
regulate their conduct in relation to one another ; in other words, 
two standards of integrity. The one is easy, comfortable, and 
dangerous; the other is stern, hard, and safe. You will find 
those, and, alas! they are a numerous class, who aim to preserve 
an integrity up to the standard of the society in which they 
move ; and you will find those in numbers all too few who meas- 
ure their conduct by a standard wholly within them. ‘The one 
would so order their lives as to secure the good opinion of those 
about them ; the other would bow to immutable right. ‘The for- 
mer look to society as a. sort of mirror by which to put on their 
moral habit. When it smiles they kuow no higher warrant ; 
when it frowns no sterner disapproval. The self-interest it al- 
lows they are ready enough to practice ; to the self-indulgence at 
which it winks they see no moral obstacle. The other makes 
conscience the supreme arbiter; considers its pointing the way 
of right; listens to its voice as the voice of God; regards the 


6 


hardships and losses it commands as imperatives that may not 
be disobeyed, and the self-interest or self-indulgence it disap- 
proves as iniquities that may on no account be practiced. What- 
ever easier standard society may hold up and offer to judge their 
conduct by, they are obliged to turn from it to the criterion with- 
in themselves. Now I need not urge that the former, since they 
are without moral center, can never be trusted. They may be in 
their aim never so high, m their intent never so true; yet be- 
cause their right is the good opinion and their wrong the adverse 
criticism of those about them; because their moral criterion is 
not really theirs, no confidence can be reposed in them. The 
ground on which their moral structure is reared is an ever chang- 
ing quicksand; and that structure is pretty sure at last to fall. 
Nor does society, however it may smile on such, really trust 
them. Instinctively it perceives their want of moral center. 
The only ones who are regarded safe and trustworthy, mark it 
when and where you will, are those whose moral standard is 
within. And here, if I have not fully mistaken him, we must 
class our friend and brother. He was self-poised. His moral 
criterion was ever at the center of himself. That conduct which 
the moral law forbade no easy social standard could make right 
for him. His right or wrong was never the social smile or frown, 
but the ‘* Thou shalt,” or ** Thou shalt not,” thundering from the 
Sinai within him. i 

And so you trusted him, as you will always trust such, certain 
that neither the seductions of self-interest, nor the voice of self- 
indulgence could tempt him where right had made plain her way. 
He gained his ascendency amongst you by reason of his self- 
centered integrity. It is because of this, and because it proved 
equal to his sustaining that he won your confidence. He be- 
came the useful man you knew him, because while intellectually 
equal to great duties, he was also morally qualified to discharge 
them: because he was one whose large powers were directed by 
nothing less authoritative than the moral law within him, because 
he was one whose ability to do was not more conspicuous than 
his desire and purpose to do right. It was because of this mar- 
riage within him of high attainment with steadfast rectitude that 
you found in him one with whom you could leave your trusts, 
certain that he would safely guard them. Had he been other- 
wise, his life had worn an entirely different aspect. Had there 


a 


been wanting this moral rectitude, or had not his moral criterion 
been within, had it been the lax and easy standard of the society 
around him, he might still have been powerful in thought, able 
in debate, eloquent in appeal, but he had never been a trusted, 
honored, and useful man. 

Secondly. Not less important in the development of his life, 
was that principle which led him to consecrate himself primarily 
to service and not to self. This we might indeed say would al- 
ways be the course of a clear headed and just thoughted man. 
The true plan of life is, perform your part and take the natural 
results. Do the duty and accept the reward as it shall come. 
Set yourself to the achieving of a good and then let it bless you. 
This I say is the true plan of life, and the only one by which its 
prizes can be legitimately won. The prevailing maxims, however, 
are the other way. ‘They seem ever to urge one to make his mark, 
to win a place, to conquer recognition. The common appeal of the 
day is to ambition. We set before us not our high calling but 
the prize thereof. Sometimes the course of our friend was re- 
marked upon with expressed or implied criticism. Higher posi- 
tions were easily within his reach; he might have gained the up- 
per rounds of official honor; wealth was an easy possibility ; 
why then let such opportunities go by? There is an aspect of 
the case from which I think his course not wholly defensible. 
At a time when official trusts are made the prizes of ambition 
and the incompetent and unscrupulous are competing for them, 
it seems in the line of duty for those so well fitted to win and 
discharge them to assert their natural right to them. I am in- 
clined to think he had been a more useful man had he sought a 
higher or at least a more conspicuous usefulness. But the prin- 
ciple that deeply and most really controlled him is worthy to be 
held up here or anywhere. JI remember once in conversation en- 
deavoring to stir his ambition a little by showing him how much 
higher positions he might gain, how equal were his capacities to 
higher duties. ‘‘ I know it,” said he, ‘‘ I have thought about it ; 
but where am I needed more than here? To what people can I 
be more serviceable than to my own townsmen?” Where am I 
needed more? Is that the question the struggling, wriggling 
ambition and rivalry of to-day is wont to ask? Yet the princi- 
ple adopted by our friend no rational man will deny to be the 
true one. And how far its practical recognition went to making 


8 


him what he was I think you all must feel. When you gave him 
your trusts did you feel that in the discharge of them he aimed 
first to aggrandize his wealth or influence? When you honored 
him with office did he accept it as a prize he had won?—was it 
not as a duty given him to perform? When the poor man strug- 
gling with his poverty or the widow in her need came to him for 
counsel or guidance did that steady helpfulness come from one 
who filled his office primarily for the honor and profit it might 
bring him? Could he have’ been the man he was had not the 
higher sense of service and the supreme behests of duty moved 
him?. No! No! The principle at the center moulds and col- 
ors and tones the life. A man can rise no higher, he can be no 
fairer than his animating motive. 

Thirdly. As must always be the case with the man who would 
attain his best, his mind: had an upward look. fis spirit took 
nourishment from the contemplation of higher things. Religion 
was a very real thing to him. Christianity engaged not his pas- 
sive but his active interest. Not a man in whom what currently 
passes for the religious sentiment was especially marked, he was 
yet one who sought out the substance of religion and strove to 
appropriate it. He was a man in whom faith was strong. Not 
a faith which means an excessive credulity; not a faith which 
means adherence to special beliefs and doctrinal systems; but a 
faith that lays hold on principles and holds trustfully, loyally to 
them. 

To specialize a little, he had faith in Christ and Christianity. 
His faith in them, too, was too strong to allow him any misgiv- 
ing as to the results of honestly, candidly, and with such light as 
he had, and all he could obtain, investigating them. He had no 
sense of danger to deter him from the disowning of any rite, 
from the rejection of any doctrine, or the doubting of any scrip- 
ture. And this, friends, is the spirit in which Christianity should 
be approached. It says, ‘‘ Reach hither thy finger and behold 
my hands, and reach hither thy hand and thrust it into my side.” 
The open, doubting, investigating mind; the mind that will re- 
main open and will doubt, and will investigate, and will sternly 
refuse to accept anything that has not for it the seal and guaran- 
tee of absolute truth—that is what it demands. And this, we 
must all admit, it gets but very little of. And this, primarily, I 
apprehend, because there is such abounding want of the faith 


9 


our friend possessed. Doubting, investigating, calling in ques- 
tion, departing from the old landmarks; leaving anchorage and 
buoy and harbor and lighthouse, and taking for your guidance 
some eternal star, sailing forth upon the ocean,—what will come 
of it? we tremblingly ask. Is there not danger in thus heaving 
anchor? Is it not perilous to investigate? Will it do to doubt 
miracles? Is it not at the hazard of our soul’s safety that we 
question inspiration? Will not Christianity be undermined if 
science go unbridled or if criticism hold its course? The true 
spirit of faith rather recognizes this, that there is immutable truth 
somewhere, and that there can be no peril in the earnest quest 
after it. If in the search we must needs leave old landmarks, 
why then, it says, it is better to leave them; if Christianity can 
be undermined it ought to be. Besides, the spirit in man pro- 
tests against rearing the structure of his religion on anything 
less enduring than the eternal adamant. The only system of 
belief that has any rightful claim on your mind and mine is one 
that can by no possibility be overthrown. Faith in Christianity, 
if if means anything means confidence that it rests on immut- 
able foundations ; that investigation cannot disturb it, but rather 
does it service by tearing away the falsehoods that disfigure it. 

And then again, to the clear headed, thoughtful, earnest man, 
it must always be apparent that the peril is all on the other side ; 
not in doubting, not in questioning, but in refusing to question ; 
restraining, coercing, repressing the heaven given faculties of the 
mind, self-sophistication, leading one to that most miserable of 
misbelief which consists in making believe believe,—a sin against 
the mind, and in the ultimate consequence a poison to the soul. 
Only believe is the pious shibboleth of the church. Only. I 
would rather say, honestly use the faculties God has given you ; 
take the truth as you see it, the light as it shall be revealed to 
you. There can be no danger in being true. 

Such an one, actuated by such conviction, was the good 
man who has left us. Too honest with himself to make believe 
believe, too religious to repress or disown his doubts, he held 
the great themes of religion constantly before his mind; he ex- 
plored them as a man of his understanding ought, to find the 
central and vital truth that is in them. To this end he sought 
and labored, in the midst of a busy profession constantly recurring 
to his New Testament and religious meditation, and I deem it no 


10 


extravagance to say that the time and honest thought he devot- 
ed to religious themes would in itself rebuke the indolence of 
many a clergyman. And oh, how such contemplation sweet- 
ened, elevated and adorned his life ! 

Was this upright, high aimed, truth loving, truth seeking, 
truth trusting man a Christian? Men, I suppose, will ask this 
question. Well, friend, suppose that you find that in consisten- 
cy with some definition you may give to Christianity—you, I say, 
not: I—you cannot call him a Christian. What then? 


“That which we call a rose 
By any other name would smell as sweet.” 


I ask again, was he a Christian? 


‘‘But I remember still, 
The word and whence it came. 
Not he that nameth the name, 
But he that doeth the will.” 
‘Not every one that saith unto me, Lord! Lord! but he that 
doeth the will of my Father.” My New Testament does not read, 
Blessed are the Baptists for theirs is the true baptism; Blessed 
are the Congregationalists for theirs is the true doctrine: Blessed 
are the Episcopalians for theirs is the true church; Blessed are 
the Unitarians for theirs is a free faith. The beatitudes I find 
contemplate something far deeper than the accidents of creed or 
worship. Was he a Chiistian? Adopt for a moment the basis 
of life and character and then turn over your calendars of saints : 
call up the debased and dishonored lives of those for whose late 
repentance you give certificate to the kingdom of heaven; nay, 
take the average plodding, careless, self-seeking, gain-pursuing 
multitude that throng our churches and whose salvation you sup- 
pose to be especially secure; hold the two up before you, and 
over against each other and compare. Which looks the better? 
Which in itself most honors God and is most worthy of the es- 
teem of men? If they be Christian and he is not, then are we 
not in honesty compelled to admit that there is in this world 
something better than being a Christian? I see no escape from 
the admission. If to the untold multitude I have described, you 
can give a certificate to some future heaven; if over their cof- 
fined forms you can have the assurance to say they are safe, 
then if on the throne of the Universe there be one who disre- 
gards the form and accepts the eternal substance of things; if 


11 


there be more regard for character than profession ; for life-long 
service than death-bed repentance; if the scheme of salvation 
be something in accord with the eternal nature of things, and 
not an artificial device, nay, a hideous barter, then I declare to 
you I am willing to put on the ‘filthy rags’ of that man’s right- 
eousness and go into the presence of my judge and stand my 
chance. If he was not a Christian, and I am not wholly mis- 
taken in him, then the word Christian has no meaning that is 
worth anything to me. 

The gentler and more attractive qualities were very largely 
his. He was cheerful, generous, sympathetic, tender. He was 
modest; in his self-estimate, I think, faultily so. He could ney- 
er accept the estimate which others made of his abilities. I 
think this often deterred him from worthy undertakings and led 
him to defer to the judgments of others where his own had been 
better. 

He was in a marked degree appreciative. His demands were 
not unreasonable. ‘Those near him when they struggled and 
failed were sure of his encouragement. When they succeeded 
they might count safely on his congratulation. 

Since I have occupied this pulpit my relations with him have 
been unspeakably pleasant, and when my head is whitened and 
age has traced its furrows on my brow, I am sure I shall be una- 
ble to think of him without gratitude. For his manifest friend- 
ship, his encouragement, his sympathy, how many times have I 
wanted words to thank him. And yet while commendation was 
not unusual, its opposite was not infrequent. Sometimes when 
some mistake of mine had provoked harsh censure here and 
there, passing through his mind it suggested a kindly and judi- . 
cious criticism which he sought me out and gave me in person. 
That, friends, would be a good way for you to treat one another. 

How active was his interest in this church! How constant 
was he in his pew! How helpful in the Sunday school! How 
zealously he guarded the interests of the society! How he 
played the part of peacemaker amongst us; and you know that 
at times we have needed a peacemaker. 

But, as we say, he is gone. That brain has ceased to toil, 
that heart to'throb. We shall mect him no more in the accus- 
tomed ways of life. We shall be helped no more by his sagac- 
ity, cheered no more by his encouragement, coerced no more by 


12 


his reproof, guided no more by his counsel. That loyal spirit 
has winged afar its flight. From some other sphere it may still 
behold us, but no more in mortal vesture will it dwell among us. 
But fair, clear and bright for us shines still the star that gulded 
him. Men may perish, but principles do not perish. Truth, vir- 
tue, honor,—these measure not their duration by heart throbs. 
And here is the culmination of my discourse. You honored him. 
What you honored in him were just as honorable in you. When 
you bare assent to the integrity, the high aim, the upward look, 
the onward pressing spirit which characterized him, let the im- 
pulse to realize these high qualities in yourselves lay hold upon 
you. All the principles that made his character so fair remain 
for us. Follow what you honor. Cleave to that in essence 
which in him concretely you revered. Happy is he who has such 
example before him; but happier is he who has such principles 
within him. 

The question arises in many minds, what shall we do without 
him? We relied on him so much; he was so useful, so indis- 
pensable. We must, indeed, feel his loss, but there is only one 
thing to do, and that is, close up and go along. The duties he 
performed here, it is ours with more persistent effort to perform. 
Fortunately no one man is absolutely indispensable, however he 
may seem so, to the church or to the world. ‘The part he sus- 
tained our united effort surely must be equal to. Deprived of 
his counsels, we will of ourselves and Him that is Highest take 
counsel. Deprived of our peacemaker, let us all turn peace- 
makers, or better still, let us all keep the peace, and then there 
will be no need of a peacemaker. 

Shall we mourn that we have lost him? Nay, let us rather 
thank God that we have had him. We say, he is gone. Ah! 
that is a mistake. Not gone, but by the force of his high char- 
acter and his upright example he is still here. Influences do not 
perish ; impulses still abide. The best of him is still here. Not 
gone, but rather transferred to the 


‘Choir invisible 
Of those immortal dead who live again 
In lives made better by their presence.”’ 





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